


Suck and Let Go

by GooberFeesh



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, Licking, M/M, Married Couple, Newt is a dirty birdy and Hermann can dig it, newmannpornfest2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/pseuds/GooberFeesh
Summary: “Hey.Hey. It’s not, like, weird or anything? This is a win-win. You like your fingers sucked, and I like having stuff in my mouth,” Newton explains, sans shame or modesty.Hermann has seen Newton’s oral fixation firsthand, from the way Newton gnaws at his fingernails when he’s anxious, to the way he destroys plastic straws at restaurants, to the way Newton attaches his lips to more promising areas of Hermann's anatomy. This...could work, actually.--Written for the Newmann Porn Fest 2018.





	Suck and Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> This took way too long to write/post, but here we finally have my official contribution to the Newmann Pornfest 2018. The prompt I chose was 'finger sucking', but given the nature of this event I decided to kick it up a raunchy notch. ;) 
> 
> Title comes directly from a song of the same name by Peaches.

Hermann isn’t sure what to find more amusing: how Newton eagerly pushes into Hermann’s hand as it scruffs through his shower-damp hair, or how Newton insists on bouncing his leg in response, like he’s a dog getting his belly rubbed. It’s curious, peculiar behavior, but Newton is a curious, peculiar person, so Hermann supposes it isn’t all that surprising, really. 

He continues to stroke Newton’s hair from root to tip until his husband looks up and, as a result, disconnects Hermann’s touch in the process. Relaxation is painted across Newton’s boyish features as he readjusts between Hermann’s long legs and looks down at him. 

Although perfectly visible through Newton's glasses, Hermann gazes deeply into Newton’s eyes as though he’s never seen them before. Hermann suddenly, and fondly, recalls their letters - namely, how Newton had abruptly asked in an earlier one: _What color are your eyes, Hermann?_

The question itself had come out of seemingly nowhere with no justification or lead-up behind it, but so were the tangents that often zigzagged through Newton’s distracted brain. Hermann had answered with a very plain and straightforward _brown_ in his correspondence. He had also awkwardly returned the query, if only because he felt it polite to do so. One did typically reciprocate a question when asked. 

_Greenish_ was the answer Newton supplied with no further elaboration. It had been a suitable response then (even if Hermann didn’t agree with tacking ‘ish’ onto any word, let alone a color), but now Hermann can see that ‘greenish’ is nowhere near the only color found within Newton’s complex irises. There’s also turquoise, and gray, and a brilliant ring of gold surrounding Newton’s pupils. It strongly reminds Hermann of the galaxies he admired and studied as a child (though he fears confessing this comparison will only welcome Newton’s unabashed teasing).

In the end it’s Newton snapping his fingers in front of Hermann’s face that pulls Hermann from his private recollections. “There we go. You looked like you were miles away there, buddy.”

“It's possible,” Hermann answers, and then adds whilst brushing a thumb across Newton’s stubbled cheek: “One tends to veer off course when losing themselves in your incredible eyes.”

Newton’s jaw drops in a comedic display of disbelief. “Did you just… _hoooly shit_. That was smooth as fuck, Herms.” 

“It would seem that your pick-up line lessons are finally starting to sink in,” Hermann replies, amused.

“Yeah, tell me about it. Pretty soon we’ll need to hit up a bar so you can finally score and get in my pants.”

Hermann feels it a tiresome and pointless venture to explain that a) he and Newton are already married, b) Hermann avoids bars and most public drinking venues like the plague, and c) he has been in Newton’s pants far too many times to count. It’s why he simply leaves the conversation where it is and resumes stroking Newton’s cheek—that is, until Newton turns his face and decides that Hermann’s doting thumb is better suited clasped between his teeth rather than chasing Newton’s freckles. 

Hermann sighs, tugs his thumb back (thank you very much), and splays his entire hand, starfish style, across Newton’s face in retaliation. 

Naturally, this doesn’t deter Newton or his persistent efforts. It only encourages him. He feigns distress and settles his own hand against Hermann’s hand, as though he’s trying to fend off a menacing foe and not a harmless cluster of phalanges. “Ahhh! Facehugger!”

Hermann furrows his brow in confusion. “A face _what_?”

Newton goes very very still, and when he speaks again his voice is low and muffled against Hermann’s wide palm. “Don’t do this to me, man. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen any of the Alien franchise.”

Hermann recalls a film that might have been about aliens from his youth, but he isn’t sure if it’s the one Newton is currently referencing. To be fair he hadn’t seen much from his position in the armchair, let alone over the large book in his hands, before father had bellowed at Bastien to shut off the television. 

“Shall I add it to my ever-growing list of ‘must-see’ films?” Hermann asks, giving Newton’s face a gentle squeeze.

“It’s not even a list anymore. It’s a scroll. Like, one of those long-ass scrolls in cartoons that keep on unwinding after you roll them open,” Newton responds, prior to removing Hermann’s hand from his face and looking at Hermann’s willowy piano fingers through his now smudged lenses. Newton then guides his own hand against it, so that he and Hermann are pressing their hands together. “Jeez, babe. Your fingers can totally eat mine for dinner.” 

Aside from the general absurdity of Newton’s statement, Hermann can agree with Newton to an extent: his fingers are longer and leaner than Newton’s and, when curled over, can effortlessly eclipse the tops of Newton’s fingers. He does so in demonstration, swallowing Newton’s fingertips beneath his own gently.

Hermann expects the ridiculous ‘ _nom-nom-nom_ ’ sound effect Newton supplies, but what he doesn’t expect is for Newton to take Hermann’s hand again and begin kissing his fingers slowly. Hermann watches, entranced, as Newton trails his mouth across Hermann’s knuckles before focusing solely on Hermann’s index finger. Once there Newton parts his lips, exhales hot air against Hermann’s cuticle, and swiftly pulls the digit into the moist heat of his mouth. 

Hermann shudders. “N-Newton...”

“Hmm?” Newton hums, as if he doesn’t have Hermann’s finger resting in his mouth. He bats his eyelashes innocently. 

Hermann feels a strong flush claim his ears and cheekbones as Newton’s tongue begins a slow, teasing swirl around his captive finger. “Ahh…”

Newton repeats the gesture and then pulls away with a damp _**pop!**_ before grinning as wide and cunning as the Cheshire cat. “I think someone is totally into finger sucking here.” 

Hermann doesn’t need to answer. The bulge in his pajama bottoms is all the proof and more that what Newton is saying is correct. Shamefully almost, Hermann starts to glance away before Newton stops him.

“Hey. _Hey_. It’s not, like, weird or anything? This is a win-win. You like your fingers sucked, and I like having stuff in my mouth,” Newton explains, sans shame or modesty. 

Hermann has seen Newton’s oral fixation firsthand, from the way Newton gnaws at his fingernails when he’s anxious, to the way he destroys plastic straws at restaurants, to the way Newton attaches his lips to more promising areas of Hermann's anatomy. This...could work, actually. 

“Here, look. I’ll go nice and slow, okay? If you’re not feeling it just tell me and I’ll stop,” Newton says, guiding Hermann’s finger back to his mouth. 

“Alright,” Hermann concedes quietly, and then inhales sharply when Newton sheathes Hermann’s finger back into his mouth. 

Newton hums again, sending pleasant vibrations along Hermann’s cool skin and joints. Hermann closes his eyes when Newton begins to suck a little harder, and when Newton decides to take a _second_ finger into his mouth? Hermann’s toes curl so hard that they crack. The crimson stain on his face brightens as he gasps - a soft, pleasurable sound, but a sound nonetheless. 

This carries on for a little while, and it ends with Newton pulling away again. By then Hermann is panting and painfully hard; his pajamas are doing nothing to conceal his erection, which presses into Newton’s colorful stomach. Without releasing Hermann’s fingers, Newton reaches down to start palming Hermann through the thin material. 

“Soooo… I have an idea.”

Hermann swallows down the heavy groan that travels up his throat. “Dare I ask what it is?”

“Only if you wanna keep feeling good,” Newton challenges, smirking.

Hermann considers it for no more than two seconds. “Very well, you fiendish man. Tell me.”

“I think,” Newton starts, licking a wet stripe up Hermann’s quivering fingers, “that we should jack off together, and…” He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is thick with arousal, “I should suck the jizz off your fingers.”

If Hermann was blushing before he’s absolutely on fire right now. Newton has always spoken forwardly, but this… Dear God. This may be one of the most crude things he’s ever suggested (which says a lot due to Newton saying many crude things on a daily basis). A less vulgar term might have been better, but then again licking the ‘semen’ off his fingers does not sound much better. 

As if reading Hermann’s mind, Newton laughs. “Too much? Mmkay, I’ll make it simple for you, honey. You, me. Get off. I suck your fingers clean once we finish. Capiche?”

“I understood your intentions the first time, Newton,” Hermann says, though he doesn’t quite sound like himself. 

“Oh, right on. Are you down for it then?” The firm stroke he gives Hermann through his pajamas is definitely a cheating move, but it’s persuasive enough to seal the deal.

“Yes, yes. Alright. Just please continue what you started before I go mad,” Hermann tells him, almost demandingly. 

He loathes being teased any longer than necessary without the promise of a good finish. It’s different when he’s the one doing the teasing, because he’s found that Newton enjoys being slowly stimulated until he can no longer stand it. Hermann, however, is rather the opposite. It’s an interesting thing, truthfully, given the nature of their personalities and how Newton is far more impatient as a person than Hermann is, but it’s not something Hermann wants to contemplate in that moment.

He wants Newton to touch him, stroke him, and to make him see stars. 

Hermann’s wish is granted when his partner sits up and starts to tug Hermann’s pajama bottoms down his legs and over his knees. Newton shimmies out of his own boxers in record speed and sees that their cocks are lined up and being stroked simultaneously by one of their hands.

Nothing short of transfixed, Hermann watches on as they set a pace. He’s tempted to grip onto Newton’s forearm with his free hand, but before Hermann can entertain the thought any further Newton is taking that very hand back into his possession; he returns Hermann’s fingers to his mouth, sucking them hard, as they both guide one another towards climax.

Newton starts rocking into each thorough pump, moaning lewdly around Hermann’s fingers, while Hermann very nearly drowns in euphoric bliss; the dual sensations of having his fingers sucked and cock stroked are almost far too much to endure. Surely his leg and hip won’t appreciate the way he’s thrusting into he and Newton's combined effort, but Hermann is helpless to stop himself from surrendering all rational thought and reason. How can he when he feels so good, and when Newton looks so beautiful, and when they’re both so hopelessly, foolishly in love?

In the end Hermann isn’t sure who comes first.

It’s hard to determine anything with his head thrown back and his pulse thundering like a stampede in his ears. When his vision eventually clears and he can breathe again without violently shaking, he straightens his torso and looks forward.

Sure enough, there sits an equally spent and debauched Newton, licking and suckling their entwined releases from not only Hermann’s fingers, but also his own. It’s erotic, uncouth, and perhaps a bit strange, but Hermann doesn’t dare look elsewhere. 

“You taste soooo good, babe,” Newton says, once he pulls his greedy mouth away. “And uh, not to toot my own horn, but so do I.” 

Hermann wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, but both of his hands are sticky with spunk and saliva, and he would prefer that they not be anywhere near his face. “ _Really_ , Newton.”

“What? It’s true!” As proof, Newton sucks another pearly patch off of Hermann’s middle finger before it can run down into his palm. “Mmm. I think this was a great trial run. Don't you?"

"Perhaps," Hermann considers, shivering. He offers another soiled finger and is delighted when Newton takes it without hesitation. "Although another trial may be necessary in the near future..."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gooberfeesh on tumblr. Thanks for reading!


End file.
